Bartholomew Welles

Bartholomew Welles Mar 2021

Red heat burns at the extension of my
Fingertips, ashes stoked for a second night of
Inhalation.

Clandestine wetted brown sinks it’s teeth
Into my lips again, it’s breath in my lungs a smoky
Tessellation.

Warmth fills me for the first time in
Months, but a fire lit myself pales dimly in
Comparison

To yours. And yet, there is welcoming comfort in
Knowing that it’s closeness won’t flee the
Garrison

At the first sign of invading intimacy. The risk of
Cancer here is but longing brought to
Manifest.

Cut me with glances, burn with touch. Gods and devils
Both pine for the heart you’ve already
Possessed.

Cigars burn as hearts do sometimes.

#cigar #smoke #longing #heat #lust #passion #possession

Bartholomew Welles Mar 2021

Boiling Oath

As the night settles to simple silence,
My brain seeds in diminished doubt,
Waters it with cold contempt and waits.

Waits to grow lonely compliance,
And the inevitably harvested fallout,
The lungs and heart equally bates.

Bates the breath and feeling both,
As thoughts collect sowed dissent,
And into the broth they’re swiftly stirred.

Stirred until they take a boiling oath,
And hateful knee truly bent,
So that notion of self fully blurred.

My mind trying to make sense of itself

#self #brain #disorder #discontent

Bartholomew Welles Mar 2021

Fingers II

I run my fingers everywhere,
Well, almost everywhere.

They dance along your back in reassurance,
Seek shelter in the comfort of your own,
Press matter to matter to confirm your existence,
Wring the day’s dripping tension from your back,
And shoulders, and feet.

In the mornings they profusely itch,
Until they get the chance to text you good morning,
In the afternoons they gnawingly ache,
Until they’re knocking at your door.
But mostly, in the evenings they joyously sing,
Home once again wrapped up in yours.

I run my fingers everywhere,
Well, Mostly everywhere.

But mostly, they strain to breaking
Reaching out to you.

Follow up to my previous work, the other side of the coin, the other hand intertwine.

#longing #fingers #itch #hands

Bartholomew Welles Mar 2021

Wild Bouquet

I want to buy you every Forget-Me-Not
so that my name's the only one you remember.

I want to drive down highways, backroads, and forgotten paths, picking those wildflowers that you love.

Lilies and hydrangeas, and all the other fleeting pretty things,
I want to give them all to you.

After collecting every flower, and setting your world into
a wild bouquet, I want to just be there, with you.

Wrote this for an old flame once upon a time, since she lived too far away for me to just give her flowers.

#love #flowers #wild #longing

Bartholomew Welles Mar 2021

Confessional

If only there was confessional
For atheists.
I wish Catholics didn’t hold an monopoly,
On old men stuffed in wooden boxes,
Who listen and offer a way out.

It would be nice to call a stranger,
Father, and list to him
All my perceived transgressions.
Stuck with me as I give,
A detailed report on all the ways I hate myself.

Put them on every street corner,
No one uses telephone booths
Anyways.
Confession; I am not, and
Have never been a Catholic.

But my life feels awfully close,
To one long Hail Mary.
So I wish Catholics didn’t hold a monopoly,
On old men stuffed in wooden boxes.
White collars pristine and choking back judgement.

Father, don’t cry for me,
Or try and lie about yours.
Just tell me what phrases,
To repeat 30 times so I know when,
I can stop flagellating myself.

Bartholomew Welles Mar 2021

Fingers

You run your fingers everywhere,
Well, almost everywhere.

They whisper through my hair,
Intertwine with mine in quiet times,
Comfort me with gentle squeezes,
Link behind me when we hug hello,
And goodbye.

I’ve seen the product of their delicate touch,
Felt their strength in your convictions,
Tasted the delicious meals of their efforts,
But mostly, I fear they will continue,
To keep me an arm’s length away.

You run your fingers everywhere,
Well, almost everywhere.

But mostly, you’ve just got them,
Wrapped around my heart.

#heart #fingers #longing

Bartholomew Welles Mar 2021

Good Ship Misery

I wish I could sleep,
do anything but think,
About all the ways this year
Is already at the brink,
We could sink.

But we could also
swim or fly or
parachute down a mountainside.
I do not care to weigh,
all the times I cried.

And I tried,
To feel all the pain
that lives inside,
it resides so close,
to all the important parts,
of me.

And I can see,
looking through looking glass,
I cannot live stuck
in the past,
Alas.

This too shall pass!
Pass on to that
Good ship Misery,
and with a little wizardy,
and a bleeding liturgy,
our pain, shall too,
Be history.

Wrote this last year before the pandemic hit, it's been stewing for a while.

#hope #pain #survival #misery